


Dirty

by Destiny_Apocalypse



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Porn with Feelings, Sub Solas, butt stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7936117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiny_Apocalypse/pseuds/Destiny_Apocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Sub Solas Week on tumblr</p><p>The offer of a massage has a slightly different connotation between Ashanna and Solas. Thank you to Vir-Ghilani for being a lovely beta <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty

She was observant. Far more so than he had given her credit for in those early days of the Inquisition’s founding. But she recognized the patterns; the absent movements and the glazed eyes of one whose mind is far away, lost in their own failings.

For he had so many of them, after all.

She saw his hands shake when the the guilt hit him like a blow to the face; where he was surrounded by an unfamiliar world where everything was muted and dull and full of people that decayed year after year until they withered away into dust.

Because of him.

Sometimes she would hold him until the shaking stopped, and he was grateful for it. Smooth her rough hands over his brow and whisper softly in Elven. Sometimes she would pretend not to notice, and ask him to tell a story of the fade while he attempted to control his trembling.

Never does she ask him what causes these moments. She knew enough from own on experience that sometimes comfort was far more of a relief than questions. And he was grateful for it; for it was one less lie he had to tell.

His feelings for her churn in his stomach, rising in his throat until he feels as if he will choke on them. He loves her, and it hurts.

It is far too easy to get used to the comfort she offers; to drown himself in it. It’s so easy to surrender when she gently guides him into her quarters and onto her soft bed.

 

It is where he finds himself just as the sun is setting, casting a pleasant glow through the stained glass windows adorned in a Dalish design. The bed feels luxurious underneath him, compared to the small cot he sleeps on in his own assigned room. Heavy furs made from bear pelts are piled on the bed; gifts from the Avvar of the Fallow Mire’s new chieftan. They, thankfully, smell nothing like the bogs that he remembers from the region. Against such surroundings he becomes increasingly aware of the soreness in his body and the stiffness in his joints, of maintaining the same position for hours while painting the Inquisitor’s most recent triumph in the rotunda.

When he looks up she’s standing before him, framed in the waning sun. Gold light spills over her skin, making it glow. Her lips press together tightly, a hint of tongue visible behind her teeth.

“You’ve been painting all day, haven’t you? You look tense.”

“It comes with the territory of working on such a large canvas,” Solas admits, rolling his neck a bit. “And the need to work efficiently before the paint dries.”

“Would you like a massage?”

Solas quirks his lips upwards slightly. An innocuous request, but to them alone it had a different connotation. His eyes flicker towards the small stand next to the bed and he considers.

She waits, expression neutral.

“I believe I would,” he agrees after a moment’s deliberation.

She bids him to remove his shirt. He does so, pulling the woolen fabric over his head as he feels the bed dip with her weight added to it. He chuckles a bit when her hands get adventurous on his newly exposed skin, which turns into a choked snort when her hands dip into a sensitive spot under his ribs.

“That is not how a massage is done,” he chides.

“Made you laugh though,” she points out, tucking her chin at the joint of his shoulder and neck. She smells of burnt elfroot and Orlesian soap.

“If that was your intent, perhaps you should have not been so underhanded about it,” he observes. She pokes him in the ribs and he can’t help but to smile, his earlier melancholy temporarily pushed aside when her hand drops to the pendant laying against his chest and tugs until his head is twisted to face her.  

“Kiss me,” she says.

“How am I to refuse?” He smiles, angling his head back to capture her lips between his own. She sighs with each breath, heart pounding against his chest when he slides his tongue into her mouth, but she does not let go of the pendant dangling around his neck. He moves his mouth to her neck, and she pulls the cord tightly against him.

“On your stomach, please,” she asks, breath tickling his ear.

“ _Ma nuvenin”_

He settles in, a plush pillow propping up his head as he lets himself sink into the softness of her bearskin furs. There is a rattling sound as she retrieves something from the nightstand and he closes his eyes in anticipation.

When her hands touch his bare skin, they are warm from magic and slick with oil. He groans as soon as she begins working the knots in his body, gently easing the tension free. She works down the expanse of his back before sliding her oil slicked hands underneath his waistband.

“Ashanna.”

“Hmmm?” She murmurs behind him.

“You are getting oil stains on my breeches. Those are very hard to remove.”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” she decides. He sighs at her flippant use of the Inquisition's resources for his benefit, but finds it difficult to care overmuch when she starts sliding his pants off, gently easing them over his legs and flinging them to the side of her room.

He feels the bed shift as she reaches for the bottle of oil once more; and then he shivers as she pours a generous amount directly on his lower back. It slides down his spine and pools in between each of his cheeks, cold against his hot skin. His cock stirs underneath him, trapped between himself and the bed.

Both her hands come up then to spread the oil over his backside, and the feel of her calloused hands sliding over his skin sends a pleasing warm shooting up and down his spine that merely increases his arousal. Fingers slide and grip his flesh in circles, before they lower to cup his balls.

He grunts as she squeezes very gently, fingers working the sensitive area with oil. When she seems satisfied with the amount, she slips her hand underneath him to grasp his erection.

“Lift your hips a bit,” she asks softly.

He does as she asks with a groan as her fist closes over him as soon as he angles his hips up to give her room, spreading his legs slightly. Her other hand returns to his backside, thumb brushing over the ring of muscles that have been well slicked with oil. He buries his head into arms, moaning once more into the pillow.

“You look so nice spread out like this, _ma’halla,”_ Ashanna purrs, rewarding him with slow glide of her hand on his cock. Her fingers circle over his entrance, before gently pushing in with two of them. They glide in easily, due in part to the oil and their previous adventures with this sort of act.

After that words flee his mind when she begins a slow rhythm on either side of him; one hand stroking while the other presses inside and causes his toes to curl into the soft bedding. He cannot help the groan that escapes him when pleasure blossoms at the base of his spine when she glances off of a spot that makes stars burn under his eyes. Heat floods his body; rolling waves of bliss that seize his limbs and makes his muscles tremble under her touch.

Empires have risen and fallen while countless ages passed since the last time he allowed someone into his body and heart like this. The truth of it chokes him as much as the sensation does when her hand circles the slick head of his cock, spreading the moisture down the length of him so she can pump him with vigor.  

 _“Vhenan,”_ he gasps. His cock jumps in her hand and he tenses, pushing back against her fingers, seeking them to go just a little _deeper._

“Shh, I’ve got you,” she murmurs back, the words sliding over him, comforting. A warm, wet tongue drags along his spine and he arches back with a hiss.

_She has him, she has him, she has him. In more ways she could possibly know. Would she still want him, if she knew everything?_

Oblivious to his inner thoughts she works him into such a state that he is biting into the pillow to muffle his cries; fingers moving in and out of him at a steady pace in tandem with her hand working his erection in short jerks. Occasionally she gives his cock a reprieve to grasp his balls, gently rubbing the sensitive skin while continuing to fuck him with her fingers.

And then she curls those fingers and pleasure radiates through his veins; the tension in his belly coiling and unwinding as his orgasm begins to crest through his lower body. He is so close his head spins as the pressure inside him builds and expands.

“Ashanna,” he croaks.

Her hand quickly returns to his cock, where it feels heavy as it juts out from between his legs. Two quick jerks and he’s coming with a choked cry; spending himself onto her plush bedspread.

He is motionless for several long seconds as the tension continues to wind through his body, his face buried into his arms and the pillows as his Heart continues to work him from both sides until his limbs finally slacken in relief. His own spend is all over his chest and stomach, but he cares little for that as he feels Ashanna’s grip leave his cock, and her fingers slide from his entrance. His legs and knees still tremble from the aftershocks, but he manages to shift and turn so he faces his lover.

There is a basin already prepared at next to the bed, where she washes her fingers in water that quickly begins to steam. When she turns back to him, she brandishes a cloth.

“You’re dirty,” she laughs, indicating his own release cooling against his skin and the bed. The sound makes his chest flutter; tightening from the affection that pours through him. A rare sound that he files away and will treasure in the years to come when it will be all he has to remind him of the quickling elf that captured his heart.

“Let me clean you.”

“I’m afraid I have more to wash away than your cloth can cover. However it appears I am not the only one in need of cleaning.”

“Hm-oh!” Her inquiry is cut short when he grasps her by the backside and pulls her up so that she’s straddling his face. A long finger traces the stitching on her breeches, noting the wet spot that forms when he does so. The smell of feminine arousal consumes him; makes him dizzy.

He licks her through the fabric, delighting in the hiss she lets out between clenched teeth.

“Very dirty,” he grins.


End file.
